


aranyhíd

by cruelzy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelzy/pseuds/cruelzy
Summary: “golden bridge”; defined as the glistening reflection of the sun on the ocean





	aranyhíd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bubbleteabunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/gifts).



There’s a man in the sea.

Now this information isn’t particularly startling, considering you are at the beach, but the man in question is startling enough all by himself. Floundering ‘round in the waves, dressed head to toe in thick armour that has no business being worn out in this degree weather—he is unmistakably prominent amongst the skimpy speedos and bikinis. You start to sweat just looking at him. 

Then you sweat for real, because his head turns pointedly in your direction, as if he can somehow feel your gaze. 

Which is impossible. You are too far away, and there is a football field worth of moving bodies rolling between you and the shallow, and realistically speaking, there’s no way he could see even a single hair on your head much less be _walking straight towards you._

You almost tumble out of your collapsible chair.

“Hey!” You hiss, snagging the strings of your friend’s bikini top to gain her attention. “Incoming!”

She looks. 

She gives one snort, and away she goes, promptly twisting back around. “Right. You’re on your own.”

You don’t get to consider shoving her head under the hot sand, because the comic-con enthusiast has somehow crossed the beach in the last ten seconds. He casts a large shadow over your towel, rivaling that of your umbrella.

“Hello.”

The “hi” never leaves your mouth in return, because now that the man is two feet in front of your crocs and no longer a tiny speck in the great blue, you realize something astronomically crucial that you had failed to notice before. The brine pooling behind the teeth of his shoes tracks gouges straight back to the ocean, as if the greedy tide uncurled long fingers to try and pull him back to its clutches. His face deliberately withholds no emotion, charismatic, and the honest bareness of it sinks you lower to the ground, his features sharp and blinding as a new day, unblinking eyes vast and inhumane. 

He’s _gorgeous_.

“Uh,” you say.

“Hiya,” your friend drawls with sudden interest, evidently having come to the same conclusion you had. She slides her sunglasses up to perch on her widow’s peak, mouth stretched in a wide smirk. “How can we help you?”

“I am here to request your aid in pointing me towards a certain location,” he grins, and for all the eighteenth century formality wrapped in his husky voice, it only makes him _endearing_. “Would you happen to be willing?”

“Uh,” you say.

A thumb shoves your way, throwing you to the sharks. “This one would be.” 

The stranger’s penetrating gaze sweeps to focus directly on you. You are seventy-percent sure your brain leaks out through your ears.

_Get it together!_

“Willing! Yes!” you all but squeal, fishing your phone out from your bag. “Address?" 

He squints, as if unsure why you had regressed to only speak single syllable words, but recites the address easily. The task gives you something to do, and simultaneously calms you enough to decrease the jitter-bug dancing in your hands. 

The location loads. You stare. You delete and re-enter it into the search. It loads. 

"You sure this is the correct address?” Are you being pranked? Is that what this is? “That’s halfway around the world.”

He frowns, but the expression is less true exasperation and more a flash of inconvenience. It’s processed and over with in the next second, sliding off his face like a soapy bubble. He outstretches a palm. “May I?”

You scramble to your feet to make the transaction less awkward, and nearly smash your skull open as you trip, toes caught in the folds of the beach towel. Help braces you instantaneously with a firm hand. 

“Are you alright?" 

You stutter back to life, stunned. He’s _fast_. 

"Thanks,” you croak. You had thought standing would cut the height, but you are very much still craning your head to look up at him. He towers over you in his overwhelming presence, laidback smile a direct juxtaposition to the energy coiled and wound tight across his wide breadth, in the strength of his support. When he takes the phone, the brush of his fingers sends a literal shock straight through you. 

_This_ , you think vaguely, _probably isn’t normal._

“Not here indeed,” he mutters, eyes sweeping up to peer at the sun. He cocks his head slightly, as if listening to something you can’t hear, then shakes it, disgruntled. “South bound.”

Your mouth has gone numb with the bite of unfiltered ozone in his space, and every muscle in your body has turned to jelly. Still reeling from the electric current, you can barely process when he hands you back your gadget. “Thank you for your assistance,” he begins, sounding an awful lot like goodbye, “it wa—”

“Do you want my number?!” You blurt out. 

Silence.

Amongst the squawking of the gulls, you can hear your friend doubling over herself, cackling.

“Just in case you wan—uh, _need_ to call me for, er, any more help,” you stammer profusely, regretting everything in your life that has lead you to this moment. “Or y'know. Anything else!”

“…Call you?”

The unexpected shrewd blade of his scrutiny grazes you up and down. Blinking twice, you watch as the confusion slowly clears like a retreating storm.

His head throws back, laughter like a burst of static. 

“I do not have a phone!” He says just as merrily, warm and hearty as he runs a hand through lunar hair. You want to brush the salt from his lashes. “But do not worry. I will find you if you ever need to contact me. Would you like that?”

 _Yes, yes, yes, yes,_ “Sure.”

“Then rest assure,” he promises, and you have to look away from the blinding radiance of his sincerity. “I will see you again.”

On cloud nine from the glee of his agreement, you descend just enough to glance back and question how exactly he planned to keep his word, but he is long gone.


End file.
